


The Getaway

by WaywardLass



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, fruity cocktails, totally au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLass/pseuds/WaywardLass
Summary: This is a one-shot birthday fic for the magical Fen Assan. This fic is based on a true account of some sneaky photo-taking of a man who resembled a certain handsome Tevinter mage with epic fashion taste... What if it wasn't just a look-alike?... Fluff, silliness, and meta moments abound...





	The Getaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fen_Assan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday, Fen! You deserve all good things! <3 <3

The young woman chanced a glimpse over her shoulder before turning forward again. The boat drifted over the calm waters as the gaggle of tourists chatted a bit more sedately after drinks and sun-induced exhaustion. Her husband, seated beside her, leaned in closer.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Don't look now," she began.

Of course, he began to turn his head.

"Don't!" she warned in a giddy panic. She rapidly composed herself. "Behind us…a few seats down…The two men sitting together."

"What about them?" her husband asked.

"Check out the one with the moustache…Who does he remind you of?"

They fell into a twitchy silence as her husband tried, with contrived nonchalance, to locate the target of his wife's scrutiny. He searched the modest crowd there, on that leisurely, touristic ride—for some, an opportunity to take in the breathtaking landscape along the shore, and for others, an excuse to booze it up in pleasant surroundings. His gaze passed over sunburnt faces, colorful shirts, oversized rattan bags, and floppy hats to find the men his wife had been talking about. The one sitting portside was tall.

No, tall wasn't the word: Large…Robust.

The man reminded him of a wrestler—muscular, thick limbs. He sported a pair of dark sunglasses, a navy baseball cap turned the wrong way, and a white t-shirt a size too small with "Mykonos" written on it in bright blue letters. He was peering off the side of the boat in deep concentration, his posture rigid, his heavy hands poised over his knees, his expression severe. The other man beside him, however, appeared content and relaxed. He had spread his arms across the back of their seat and had tilted his head up, his eyes closed as if he were trying to absorb all the sunshine.

The young woman's husband chuckled lightly and she couldn't resist joining him in his staring. They were hardly loud over the boat's droning motor, but the mustachioed man lowered his head and his piercing green eyes honed in on the two of them inquisitively.

The two co-conspirators' heads whipped forward again.

"Busted…" she muttered, flustered.

"I know why you were so interested in him," her husband announced with great satisfaction.

She grinned. Of course he'd know what she was talking about. She wasn't very subtle in her fangirling.

"It's because he looks like Dorian, isn't it?" he continued.

She smiled.

"Exactly." She darted in, giving him a peck on the check. "Well done! I've trained you well!"

He feigned indignation as she angled her phone and her finger poked the screen, prompting the camera on.

"What are you doing now?" He braced himself for the umpteenth selfie of their trip.

"I'm trying to get a picture."

That angle would never work. She was getting the chatty German woman with the bright red cheeks behind them instead.

"What? Nooo," he chided her lightly.

"I must." Once her mind was made, she would not be dissuaded.

"Fine with me. I'm not going to be able to stop the big guy from tossing your phone into the sea when you're caught," he muttered, trying to appear indifferent as he stared at the rocky shore.

"Just let him try…" She stretched her arms and tilted the phone upwards. Better. The Dorian-lookalike came into view. "A-ha! I got you now!" she whispered, snapping a few pictures in rapid succession.

* * *

 The man in question twirled the end of his finely manicured moustache, as he was wont to do when pleased.

"Come now," he said in a low, melodious voice to his companion. "You have to agree this was a good idea."

"I want to go home."

The man scrunched his nose in passing annoyance and remained silent, resuming his worship of the sun.

"Unlike you, I do not like the freezing cold and am in no rush whatsoever to return to Emprise du Lion."

"Everyone will be wondering where we are," his companion complained.

"Oh, everyone can go to hell for a few hours…or go to Emprise du Lion: same thing."

"I'm not comfortable with this," his companion continued, peeved. "What if we can't go back?"

He smirked at the comment.

"You know, I am going to pretend only this once that you didn't just doubt my phenomenal skills."

His companion finally shifted in the seat in order to look at him.

"It's not that—you just place too much trust in those Eluvians."

"The Eluvians are fine. They work like they're supposed to."

"This is dangerous," he decided.

The man scoffed in a haughty manner.

"We are taking a pleasant boat ride in an idyllic locale, far, far, away from the Venatori, Red Templars, and Corypheus. Your concept of danger needs some _serious_ recalibrating."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have a spell on you that makes you practically unrecognizable to yourself when you look in the mirror." The bigger man huffed and adjusted his sunglasses over his angular nose.

"Well, you couldn't exactly waltz into this dimension in all your blessed qunari glory, now could you? From what I've learned about these people, you'd cause quite the _frisson_."

"The what?"

"Commotion. Actually, scratch that: it would cause panic. Perhaps, even a tad of mayhem. I could see people jumping overboard if I were to undo the spell on you."

"Maybe you should just go ahead and remove it—I could use a little more room," he grumbled.

"No, no…" Dorian decided. "This won't do at all." He waved at the waifish blonde manning the cash bar on the retrofitted fishing boat. "Oh, miss!" he called out. "Can you bring us two of these?" He pointed at the laminated drink menu she'd passed out earlier.

"What are you doing?" Bull looked about crossly.

"Relax."

"Besides," Bull continued, unable to contain his frustration any further, "these clothes you got me are too tight."

Dorian couldn't help grinning mischievously.

"Mm…yes. They pay you quite the compliment, though." Bull glared at him from behind his sunglasses. "But I agree." We should remove those pesky clothes as soon as possible, once we return to our room at the inn…" he concluded saucily.

The waitress approached them with two large, narrow glasses filled with a layered concoction in light yellow and dark orange. Adorning the rim of the glasses was an assortment of dainty absurdities: skewered chunks of fruit, little colorful paper umbrellas, and a spiraling straw.

"Ah!" Dorian interjected appreciatively, exchanging a wad of crumpled up bills for the fruity beverages.

"Your change, sir." The blonde handed him back a significant wad of money. Dorian waved dismissively, grinning winsomely at her. "Thank you!" she cried, pocketing it all.

"It's worth nothing to us," he mumbled softly as he ventured a sip. "Aaah!" He sighed delightedly.

Bull stared at his. He sniffed it tentatively before risking a small sip from the ridiculous straw. His suspicious expression softened and he took a few more sips.

"Not bad. What is it?"

"These people call it 'Sex on the Beach.' How could I pass up such a thing?" He winked.

Bull rolled his good eye.

They enjoyed their beverages in a relaxed silence. The tinny reggae music playing in the background, the salty air, warm afternoon, and the sweet drink began to settle Bull's discomfort. It had been a very foolish, risky thing to simply take off like that, not telling anyone where they were going, letting Dorian lead them through that pathway of Eluvians that led to that bizarre dimension, putting them among those strange bas. But he had to admit…it wasn't all that bad. And after their last mission, they had sorely needed a break.

Bull turned to look at him and felt a little squeeze to his heart. He was so handsome, so at ease in that alien place, standing out in the crowd even worlds away from home.

"Ah, Dorian..." He inhaled deeply.

They were interrupted by an elderly woman sitting behind them who leaned forward and popped her head up between them.

"Excuse me," she began. "My husband and I were wondering what language you are speaking in. I bet him that it is...Swedish?"

Bull furrowed his brow, but Dorian was enjoying the opportunity for some impishness. Although his powerful magic had allowed Bull to look more like the natives and made it possible for them to speak and understand their languages, between them they simply spoke to each other in Common, as they always had.

"My good lady, do you speak this Swedish language?"

"No, but I think…"

"And does your esteemed husband speak Swedish?"

The man beside her shook his head, obviously embarrassed by his wife's nosiness.

"You are absolutely right! I hope you wagered high! We were speaking Swedish. We are from…the place where people speak Swedish."

"Sweden?" she added helpfully.

"Indeed! We're just a couple of Swedanians on holiday."

The woman and the man chuckled, charmed.

"Swedanians…" She shook her head at them mirthfully.

Dorian was exuberant.

"You know what," he whispered. "I think I could really get to like this place. It's a bit backward and peculiar, no one here does magic, and the fashions tend to be more on the dowdy and unfabulous end, but…it has its rustic charm."

"You just like getting attention," Bull teased. He was beginning to lament the fact his fruity drink was almost gone. He thought he might get Dorian to conjure up some coin and get them more…

"Guilty as charged!" Dorian peered down at the Eluvian crystal he'd disguised into one of the devices he saw all the people around them using constantly—a…what did they call it? A _smartphone_? Apparently it connected people to each other and performed an array of mundane tasks. He toyed with the thought of contacting Evelyn through the crystal—she'd be so flabbergasted. He drank the last of his beverage, plucking out a skewer laden with alcohol-soaked fruit. _Maybe once this nonsense is over, I could bring the others here. Maker knows they could all use a vacation…and a few of these lovely libations…_

"Don't look now," Bull uttered in a cautious manner. "But that woman sitting further up has been staring at us for a while now."

Dorian's eyes narrowed. Yes, he could make out how she was toying with her device, attempting to capture their image.

"What if she's a spy—what if she followed us here?" Bull wondered coolly.

"Hardly! I sense no lyrium, no magic whatsoever," Dorian assured him. She was going through quite the contortions trying to get them both on the screen, he noted amusedly. "She must simply be in awe of my striking good looks!"

Bull groaned and looked around for the blonde waitress. He was definitely going to need more of those drinks if he was going to survive that boat ride...and his lover's high conceit of himself.

"Bull," Dorian whispered conspiratorially, slipping a hand over his knee, drawing closer up to the qunari. "Come closer: let's give her a picture to remember us by..."

* * *

 The young woman sorted through her pictures. She had succeeded in snapping a few shots in what she thought was the most surreptitiously ninja-esque manner and was feeling quite heroic. Her husband glanced over to see her swiping through a few images of their vacation together: crystalline blue water, picturesque historic streets, shots of the two of them grinning before various landmarks… _It has been a good vacation_ , he thought, contentedly.

"Huh!" She interrupted his musings. "How odd!"

"What?" He tilted his head in her direction.

"Strangest thing…Did you download any fan art on my phone?"

"No."

She blinked a few times at her screen.

"You are totally messing with me!" She laughed, lightly punching him on the arm.

"What? What did I do now?" he wondered, bewildered.

She passed him the phone with an expression that indicated she was on to what she thought was his little ruse. He swiped past the pictures, including the lopsided and crooked shots of the two men behind them until he reached the last picture. He snorted lightly, surprised. It was a picture of what looked like some cosplayers. Some _serious_ cosplayers…The kind that went to extremes to portray their characters down to the smallest detail, sparing no expense or technical skill. The image unmistakably featured Dorian and Bull, dressed in their in-game clothing, staring back at them defiantly. The man dressed as Bull was so eerily perfect—down to the scars, eye patch, and horns—that he felt himself shuddering. The air around the men appeared hazy and distorted--as if pulsing with some kind of energy. It was some clever photography and Photoshopping, he surmised _. I wonder where she found it. And I wonder if the artist did more of these. This is pretty incredible._

"Ha ha…You're so funny," he quipped, passing the phone back to her.

They both sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride, reaching for each other's hand, convinced the other had somehow found and downloaded the image onto the phone.

* * *

 Behind them, Dorian smacked his lips, terribly pleased with himself as he handed Bull a second fruity cocktail.

"Cheers!" he clicked his glass against Bull's.

"What are we toasting?" Bull asked, deciding that, yes, it was a pretty damn fine afternoon after all and that he would let Dorian take off all of his pesky tight clothes once they were back at the inn.

"To the finest Swedanians on this mighty vessel," he chuckled.

Bull raised his glass to that.


End file.
